


A dance to remember

by archaeologist_d



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Era, Canon Universe, Dancing and Singing, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Silly, chicken dance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-24 07:47:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21334723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archaeologist_d/pseuds/archaeologist_d
Summary: Merlin cast one too many spells. Gwaine was drunk, Arthur was annoyed, and there were chickens and dancing involved.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 109
Collections: Camelot Drabble — Prompt #379:Do the chicken dance





	A dance to remember

Arthur knew something was wrong when the chickens started to dance. Never mind that the hawks were wheeling above in perfect formation, spelling out some ridiculous nonsense about magic being marvelous. And that the cats were pirouetting around the well, all the while howling in perfect harmony. The dogs were just as bad, barking in tempo, the cluck of the chickens a noisy counterpoint. And then the horses, their hooves clomping against the stone, nodding their heads in time to whatever insanity was affecting them all.

But no sooner did Arthur think it couldn’t get any worse, the servants began to sing, Gaius bellowed out a bard’s tune – badly, and there was dancing and leaping among the staff as the madness reached a crescendo of movement and song.

He could only think of one reason that it was happening.

“Merlin!” he bellowed.

With that, Gaius’s song grew strident, and he was twirling around, hands in the air as if performing an interpretive dance – at least Arthur thought it was interpretive. It certainly wasn’t anything he’d seen before. With gestures and grimaces and pointing toward the tavern. Singing about the follies of youth and the foolishness of drink and Arthur knew just what to do.

It took a while to reach the idiot. Arthur had to run past guards juggling apples and pikes and laundresses running circles around the knights, their used-to-be-clean sheets flapping in the breeze behind them. The knights were useless, wiggling hips and hands and whatever else they could in time to Gaius’s song.

“Merlin,” Arthur shouted again. “When I get my hands on you, drink will be the last thing on your mind.”

The lower town was worse. Everyone seemed to be having a good time, dancing and singing and laughing as they frolicked around.

Arthur had to shove his way through, but at last he reached The Rising Sun.

Inside it was chaos, syncopated chaos. Merlin was downing another large mead, Gwaine was on the tabletop swiveling his hips in a circle like he was trying to stir a pot. Leon was laughing his head off making sounds of what could have been song but was more likely the dying cries of a goat, and Percival just sat there, flexing his muscles.

“Merlin!”

With that, Merlin slid off the stool and onto the floor, grinning happily as he did so. Arthur rolled his eyes, then dragged him back to his feet. “What have you done?”

“Mmm… Arthur.” And then he flopped his head against Arthur’s chest and sighed happily. His hands curled around Arthur’s waist and his hips were thrusting a little as his nose nuzzled into the opening of Arthur’s tunic. He mumbled, “Lovely hair, like sunlight. And you smell like Arthur. Do you know him? He’s… hick… my… hick… everything.”

Arthur could see that Merlin was higher than a kite on drink and magic. There was only one thing he could do and it wasn’t ravishing him, much as Arthur would like to do at some point when Merlin was actually sober.

Picking Merlin up, throwing him over his shoulder, he ignored Merlin’s protests about needing more wine, and the sudden squeezing of his arse by a handsy Merlin which he batted away. Arthur marched up to the town water supply, the basin below the pump full of water, and dumped him into it.

The sputtering was epic, the screech heard round the world. But it did the trick.

With breathtaking suddenness, the singing stopped, the hawks flew off, the townspeople milled around, blinking in the sun as if unsure what had just happened.

“What did you do that for? I was just… hick… having a… a drink with… hick… Gwaine.”

Arthur was within a hairs-breadth of dunking the fool back under water until he sobered up. Instead, like the magnanimous king he was, grabbing Merlin by the scruff of his skinny neck and shaking him just a little, Arthur said slowly, distinctly, flatly, “You enchanted everyone and every living thing in the citadel. Even the chickens were dancing.”

“Oh.” Merlin frowned a little, looking as if he was trying to understand just what Arthur was talking about. “Dancing? I didn’t think chickens… hick… did that.”

It was all Arthur could do not to scream at him. “Idiot, chickens don’t. You cast a spell on them. Now what do you have to say for yourself?”

“I don’t… was it a good dance?”

Throwing him back into the water was surprisingly satisfying.

When the wheezing stopped and the half-drunk inventive insults wound down to a classic few, Arthur said, “So what did you do? Exactly. So we never have to go through that again.”

Merlin glared at him, at least Arthur thought it was a glare, it could have been the prelude to a bit of vomit and groaning. “Ow, I’m wet.”

“That’s what happens when you start enchanting the whole of Camelot.” Running out of patience, Arthur said, a pause between each word just in case his idiot was still not quite understanding just how much trouble he was in. “What… did… you… do?”

Heaving a put-upon sigh, Merlin climbed out of the water, and stood next to Arthur. The dripping was a bit much, it looked as if Merlin had taken half the water supply with him, and when Merlin tried to squeeze his tunic dry, Arthur had to step back to avoid getting soaked, too.

“It was just a bit of fun. I didn’t think….” Merlin had the gall to look sheepish. When Arthur didn’t rise to the occasion and tell Merlin that he didn’t ever think – although it was a near thing, Merlin said, “It wasn’t Gwaine’s fault.”

Of course it was Gwaine’s fault. When those two got together, the havoc tended to be monumental. Arthur had half a mind to send Gwaine far, far away, to go on a quest for some mythical beast that didn’t really exist just to get him away from Merlin. But then Merlin would pout and droop and be generally sad and Arthur couldn’t have that.

In his best kingly voice, Arthur said, “We’ll discuss Gwaine later. What did you do?”

There was more dripping and Merlin gave a little shiver but Arthur was in no mood to be kind. Merlin shrugged. “He said he thought that people weren’t dancing enough, that if he got onto the table, maybe they’d join him up there.” Merlin looked away, down at his feet, then mumbled, so low that Arthur could barely hear him, “But they just stood there staring at him, and I felt bad because it was Gwaine and he… so I… ummm… helped?”

“Helped?” Arthur scowled at him. “With magic.”

Merlin glanced up, obviously trying to see if Arthur’s temper had subsided. It hadn’t and he looked down again. “It was just a little spell. It was supposed to make people a little looser, like they’d had a little more to drink without the hangover bit after. And follow Gwaine’s lead, although that might have been a mistake.”

Arthur tried not to yell, really he did, but apparently in vain. “That’s an understatement. What if he’d started, you know, be like he always is, having sex with anything that moved? Would they have followed his lead then?”

Looking aghast as if he hadn’t thought of that, Merlin said, “It wouldn’t, it didn’t, it’s just to make people feel better and have a good time.”

A long drawn-out sigh. “Merlin, chickens were dancing in the street. And Gaius was singing.”

Merlin swallowed hard at that little nugget of information. “Ummm, oh, that’s not good.”

Rolling his eyes, Arthur sighed again. “You have to be punished, you know. I can’t let it be said that I’m favoring you and ignoring your misdeeds.” He stepped closer, avoiding the puddle under Merlin’s feet, and grabbing his collar, started frog-marching him back into the castle. “I could lock you up and have Gaius sing to you. And Leon. They’d make quite a duet. And they’d probably enjoy it.”

“My ears would start to bleed.” Merlin looked small and upset and sorry all at the same time. “I could muck out the stables. I hate that.”

“You bribe the horses with carrots and play with my dogs. It’s not that much of an ordeal, is it?” Merlin didn’t disagree.

As they turned the corner and entered the courtyard, Arthur looked around at the horses and the chickens clucking their way underfoot and the servants bustling around. “I have it. You will put on a show. Without magic. It will involve chickens and dancing and you will perform. Without magic.”

Merlin frowned. “You said that twice.”

“Because it’s obvious that once wasn’t enough.” Arthur smirked, a victorious little imperial smirk. “An interpretive dance, with chickens as your partners. Lasting at least 15 minutes, in front of everyone at court. And anyone else who can fit into the great hall.”

Sputtering, Merlin tried to wiggle free, but Arthur held on tight. “I can’t dance. I’ll trip over my own feet. It will be embarrassing.”

“Yes, it will. And we’ll announce it at the council meeting later today, that you will be performing the dance of the chickens. You might even start a trend.”

“But Arthur,” Merlin whined, “they’ll laugh.”

Arthur smiled, satisfied and picturing it in his head. It will be the talk of the town for months. “Yes, they will. And next time, you’ll remember not to cast spells without thinking about them first.”

“I’ll turn you into a toad, I swear I will.” Merlin always said that when he knew he was wrong.

“I’ll have the court painter attend. He’s sure to sketch it, maybe even do a full-blown canvas with scenes from your dance so that it will never be forgotten.” Arthur’s plan was getting better and better.

“No, my mother will see.” Merlin looked horrified.

“Considering that she raised you, your mother would probably appreciate the irony.” They finally reached Gaius’s room. He could hear the old man puttering about inside. Arthur let Merlin go, then patted the still wet tunic back into place, and ruffled Merlin’s hair. Merlin scowled at that. “I’ll make sure that the ceremonial robes are repaired and ready for you. The chickens will love that feathered hat.”

If looks could kill, Arthur should have been bones and ash. Instead, he just gave Merlin another pleased smile. “I’ll see to the announcement. Be ready tomorrow afternoon.” He tried to look thoughtful, then nodding, said, “We’ll title it The Chicken Dance. Performed by Merlin of Ealdor, wizard extraordinaire. And that should bring even more people in. We’ll pack the halls.”

And with Merlin speechless, a first, Arthur walked away. As he did, he called back, “It will be fun.”

* * *

For Merlin, it was not fun, but it was the talk of Camelot for years afterwards. Even the court painter was brilliant in his depiction of the event. And when centuries later, when the painting was rediscovered in the attic of an old recluse, it caused such a sensation that the Chicken Dance became a staple at every wedding.

And every once in a while, Merlin danced to it, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes: Seriously? Chicken dance. Oh, dear.   
Disclaimer: I do not own the BBC version of Merlin; It and Shine do. I am very respectfully borrowing them with no intent to profit. No money has changed hands. No copyright infringement is intended.


End file.
